


Rook City Homicide

by writesthrice



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: I gave Carlos a last name because why the fuck not, I've been sitting on this for a while, M/M, Police AU, Vaas is 37 and Jason is 25, alcoholiccapdriver made me do it with amazing art, baddie!Jason, cop!Vaas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:47:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesthrice/pseuds/writesthrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vaas Montenegro is 37-year-old and has been a cop for some fifteen of those years, but nothing prepared him for the recent violent upheaval of his beloved Rook City. The past several years have seen the rise of a strange new gang, but no one can figure out who's calling the shots. For some reason, Vaas's gut is telling him to watch out for Grant Brody, but his heart is getting distracted by the man's younger brother, Jason, a 25-year-old photographer with an attitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this was an idea I had some time ago, but put on the back burner so I wouldn't get distracted from my other series. Welp. Alcoholiccapdriver over on Tumblr made some incredible art and I just couldn't resist anymore. (See the art here: http://alcoholiccabdriver.tumblr.com/post/96146562204/awhile-back-writesthrice-had-mentioned-an-awesome). It's really fan-fucking-tastic! <3
> 
> (Note: Everything I know about the police and their procedures comes from watching Cops, True Detective, The Wire, and various other cop-related shows. My deepest apologies if I get anything wrong.)

Vaas Montenegro settled back into his chair with a sigh, rubbing one hand over his face. His head was pounding. Several folders were open on his desk: testimonies, pictures, court room transcripts, crime scene photos, gun trafficking arrests, all manner of crime detritus. Vaas knew that, somehow, everything would lead back to one man: Grant Brody. The man was ex-military, now the owner of a strip club in a seedy part of town, out of which he likely sold drugs, and definitely pimped out some of the girls, not that anything could be proved. Most of the other cops on the force thought Brody was small-time, not worth a second glance, even if he was dealing pussy and low-end crack. 

Vaas didn’t think that was the end of it, though. He had a hunch, a gut feeling that told him that Grant was more important than he seem; a born leader, and still acting like it, with no one following him? Not likely. 

The last few years had seen the sudden ascent of a new gang in Rook City, and they had quickly taken over. They were everywhere and nowhere, their drugs permeating the streets, their unique tribal signs spray painted on walls and tattooed on criminals in increasing numbers, unsolved murders – by knife, no less – piled up to a man’s chest, all thought to be connected to the secretive gang, but, no matter how they threatened, pushed, or sweet-talked, there was no lead on any sort of higher player. 

The only thing they had was dubious evidence anyway: SNOW WHITE, tagged over a rival gang’s symbol with a single, small tribal mark nearby. There wasn’t really any way to connect the name and the symbol, just another hunch. The connection between Snow White and Grant Brody were nonexistent. But Vaas had been a cop for more than fifteen years, and he’d be a fool to not trust his gut now. Problem was, everyone else thought he was crazy.

Vaas shook his head, eyes still closed. One hand brushed over his mohawk, idly tracing the scar that bisected his eyebrow and ran all the way to his ear. He was tired. The cop shook his head again, and bent back to his work. Somehow, someway, everything was connected. He just had to find it.

He thumbed through the pictures, looking for his small batch of surveillance photos from the last stake-out. The first several were of Grant, two scantily-clad woman leading him into the strip club from his car; it wasn’t unusual for the oldest Brody to have one or more women with him at all times. Most of them were just partial shots, moments when Grant was greeting someone at the door, coming or going, a very few at his house, none of them at all helpful. The last showed the middle Brody brother, flipping a bird at Grant’s house with a massive shit-eating grin on his face.

Vaas frowned, running one finger across the young man’s cheek in an idle caress. “Jason Brody. What’s a pretty boy like you doing in all of this?” He set the pictures down, overlapping several gruesome crime scene photos of an eviscerated corpse. It was not the first time he’d questioned what Jason had to do with this. Grant’s younger brother seemed to be a good man; Vaas had followed him, too, and had seen nothing to make him suspicious. Jason was hard-working and light-hearted, if prone to raging smart-assery. He was tied up in Grant’s shit somehow; at the very least, he knew something of what was going on, and was protecting his brother. 

All attempts to talk to Jason about Grant had been met with derision and irritatingly haughty sarcasm. Fuck, that kid knew how to piss someone off; grinning the whole time, too.

“Fucker,” Vaas muttered, but he was smiling himself. For all that the kid was twelve years younger than him and acted like a dick each of the few times they’d talked, Vaas found that he really liked the energetic little shit.

“Montenegro, we got a call,” a quiet voice interrupted his musing. “DB pulled from the river.”

Carlos Vivanco was Vaas’s partner, had been for going on ten years now. He was a short man possessed of an unassuming personality, a forgettable face, and startling courage, insight, and intelligence that had served him very well in the Rook City P. D., and now in the more specialized Homicide unit. With Vaas’s larger-than-life personality, often crude language, and, at times, barbaric behavior, they were about as alike as a cat and a dog. They worked well together.

Vaas was on his feet almost before Vivanco could finish his second sentence, shrugging into his jacket and checking to make sure his badge was visible on its chain around his neck. “Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaas and Carlos go to investigate a body pulled from the river, and hope to find a few answers to their many questions.

Vaas and Carlos were staring down at the once-pretty face of a young woman, now bloated with death. She was naked, throat slit, hands tied behind her back, her brown hair in a tangled, wet mess. Vaas sighed softly, in regret, but tucked the sadness away, a bit of useless emotion. It wouldn’t bring her back, if he cared. So he tried not to.

“ID?” Carlos asked hopefully of a hovering police man, the first to arrive on scene. 

The man shook his head, eyes wide. The rookie was disturbed, but was striving hard for professionalism. “No, sir. Nothing. I dragged her up far enough so she wouldn’t get pulled back into the river, but I didn’t want to leave her alone to check for anything else that might have washed up.” 

Carlos patted him on the shoulder, absently murmured, “Good man,” and headed for the nearby river’s edge. Vaas didn’t follow. He was still staring down at the corpse. He grabbed some gloves and gently lifted the body up, one hand holding her head still to keep it from flopping around and tearing the fatal wound into an unrecognizable mess. 

Sure enough, starting high between her shoulder blades and ending abruptly midway down her back was the tattoo they’d connected to Rook City’s most prosperous gang. It wasn’t as full as some they’d seen; she’d not been a member for very long. He wondered what she’d done, who she’d displeased, to end up a corpse in the river.

“Carlos! She’s Rakyat,” Vaas called to his partner. The other man appeared after a moment, empty handed. They knew from experience that there would be nothing found. They’d be lucky if they could ID the poor girl at all. Vaas lowered her back into place.

“Shit,” Vaas muttered, snapping his gloves off and rubbing his hands across his knees. Nothing left to do except wait for the coroner.

“Vaas,” Carlos’s voice was soft, and it brought his partner to his side in half a heartbeat, following his gaze into the crowd gathered on the other side of the crime scene tape. Jason fucking Brody. “He looks pissed.”

“Let’s go ask him why,” Vaas growled, stalking toward the man without waiting for Carlos, balling up his gloves and tucking them into a pocket. 

Jason met Vaas at the tape, arms crossed over his chest, face drawn and dark. “Is it Liza?” he demanded before the detective could say anything. 

Carlos grabbed Vaas’s elbow before he could spit out anything he might regret. “Describe her, please,” he requested, ever polite.

“White, slender, brown hair-“

“Any tattoos, by chance?” Vaas interrupted with a hiss and a glare.

Jason looked stricken. “I- She wouldn’t have.” His gaze darkened, his teeth clicking together as he snapped his mouth shut. He was angry. The young man turned to go, half-ready to storm off. 

Carlos cleared his throat, “You’ll need to identify her. Before you can leave.” His voice was firm and it was an order. He lifted the police tape. Jason looked doubtful. 

“Come on, kid. Like you haven’t seen a dead body before!” Vaas growled. 

“What do you mean by that, old man? You accusing me of something?” Jason’s short temper flared again. 

Before Vaas’s even shorter temper could cause more trouble, Carlos snapped at them both, “There’s a dead woman lying in the mud over there. Can you two shut the fuck up for three minutes? Now, Jason.” He gestured impatiently at the younger man, who took the hint and ducked under the tape, following Carlos in contrite silence.

His mouth thinned as he saw the body, face going a little pale. “Yes. That’s Liza.” He crouched down nearby, looking at her, but he didn’t try to touch her. He looked tired. “Fuck,” he murmured, rubbing both hands over his face. “What did you do? I warned you to stay the fuck away from them.”

Vaas, a little ashamed of his hasty words, rested an apologetic hand on Jason’s shoulder, offering what comfort he could in the small gesture. Unexpectedly, the younger man covered Vaas’s fingers with his own, giving a tiny squeeze in acceptance of the unspoken apology. Green eyes looked up into dark ones, and the two half-smiled at each other, a little uncertain.

Vaas licked his lips, did it again when Jason’s eyes flicked to his mouth, and murmured softly to him, “You’ll have to come to the station. To tell us what you know.”

Jason nodded abruptly, rising to his feet in an unsteady lurch. Vaas took a step back as the younger man bolted toward the nearby foliage, and watched in sympathetic silence as Jason was neatly sick.

He returned pale, but looked a little more composed. His mouth was thinned with anger and determined. “I’m ready.”

Carlos gestured for Vaas to go on without him, jerking his head at the rookie, “I’ll wait. It wouldn’t be a good idea to leave him alone out here.” They exchanged a dark look. A few months ago, a police officer had called in a DB and asked for backup, but the first responders, some eight minutes later, found nothing but an empty cop car, blood splashed across the hood like a horror movie prop.

“Keep your eyes open,” he murmured to his partner, clasping his hand briefly on the shorter man’s shoulder. 

Carlos smiled, a rare thing, at Vaas’s concern. “I’ll be fine. Take care of the kid, yeah? And control your temper.”

Vaas snorted, but nodded in agreement. He wasn’t stupid enough to be blind to his volatile temper, and could hold pretty tightly to it when it was important. And this was important.

He found Jason Brody back at the car, leaning insolently against the side. Vaas sighed, already having to resist growling at the younger man. “Come on, kid. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Jason’s eyes flashed angrily at the ‘kid’, but he was just as eager to leave that place as the police man was. He kept his retort to a simple, “After you, old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all so wonderful. <3 Have all my love. I'd even share chocolate with you nice folks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interrogating is Vaas's thing. He's totally good at it. No, really.

Jason shifted restlessly in his uncomfortable chair, crossing and uncrossing his arms, leaning forward against the shitty table and then leaning back in the shitty chair, unable to still himself. He was panicking, yep, absolutely panicking. He _had_ to do this. Liza was _dead_ , for fuck’s sake, smart, beautiful, lonely Liza. Not as lonely as he’d thought, though. Not as smart, either.

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Dead. Yeah, totally panicking. He moved around some more, getting angrier, knowing that he looked suspicious as all hell to whatever idiot cops happen to be watching on the other side of the one way glass. Fuck ‘em. He had nothing to hide.

Well. Nothing _he’s_ done that he has to hide. Oh he was so fucked.

He ground his teeth. Grant. Jesus. How could Grant let Liza get involved? How in _fuck_ did Grant let her get herself _killed_?

God, he had to calm down. Fuck. Deep breaths. Yeah. Calm.

Vaas chose this moment to open the door, surprisingly subdued. Even so, Jason’s anger flared at the sight of him, his scarred head and mohawk so unusual when coupled with police blues, his pretty face pissing Jason off even more. The young man crossed his arms over his chest again and did his best to glower at the cop.

Vaas ignored him, set a bottle of water at Jason’s elbow, dropped a clipboard and a pen, a recorder carelessly on top of both. “You’re not under arrest, obviously,” the cop murmured, sitting in the other chair and fiddling with the recorder for a moment. His eyes darted up and he shot Jason a direct look that jolted the younger man and made his heart thud uncomfortably – it was a look that said, ‘not yet, anyway’. He tried to meet the man’s eyes with a boldness he didn’t quite feel.

“This isn’t about you, or your probably-fucked-up family. This is about that girl, murdered, too fucking young. Understand?”

“Yeah,” he murmured his agreement, eyes falling closed for a moment, flinching open when he saw Liza’s face again.

“Good.” Vaas was all business, flicking through his papers for a moment, arranging them, gathering his thoughts and materials. He reached for the recorder and paused before hitting the button. “Do you consent to this interview being taped?”

“Yes.”

He pressed the button, and the tape began to whirr gently, a soft undercurrent to the conversation.

“Please state your name.”

“Jason Brody.”

“Thank you. Now, you identified a recently deceased young woman as Liza …?”

“Liza Snow, age twenty-five.”

“And you knew the deceased?”

“Yes.”

“What was your relationship to her?”

“We dated … off and on.”

“Not serious?”

“No. I think- I think she maybe wanted it to be more serious, but I didn’t, and we broke it off, for good. Like, six months ago, I think.”

“Okay.” A pause, calculating. “Did she date anyone after you? Piss you off a bit maybe?”

Jason paused, squinting hard at Vaas, who didn’t look up, pen hovering over his paper. “I didn’t kill her.”

Dark eyes met his dead on. “Do you know who did?”

Jason hoped he hadn’t flinch. Hesitated.

Vaas’s eyes didn’t waver. “She had a tattoo …” he prompted.

He sighed, rubbed his hands across his face. “Rakyat. They call themselves the Rakyat.”

Energy thrummed through Vaas, a live wire dropped into his lap. “Who?”

“They’re a- I guess a gang? Really tough to get in, no way out except in a body bag. So they say. They believe they’re some kind of warriors or something, following a noble Path. They only use knives to kill, which I’m sure you know, and other bullshit. Lots of drugs, I think. Maybe some other stuff.”

“And this Liza Snow was one of them?”

Jason sighed again, looked away, sad. “They wouldn’t tattoo anyone who wasn’t one of them, and no one would be stupid enough to do it on their own. So, yeah. I guess she must’ve been.”

It was Vaas’s turn to be silent, to hesitate. Should he push Brody about his brother? Would it shut him up? Better play it safe. For now. “Why would the Rakyat have killed her? If she were one of them, I mean?”

Jason shrugged one shoulder, face darkening, “I don’t fucking know. Maybe something as small as she wouldn’t fuck one of them, maybe she got pissed off or freaked out and wanted to go to the cops. How would I know?”

“Just asking. If she were frightened, she might have showed up at your house, tried to call you …?” He trailed off as the color bled from his face.

He lurched to his feet and fumbled at his pocket, terror evident on his face. Vaas jumped up as well, but was barely on his feet by the time the other cops were in the room, guns drawn, chaos loosened.

He had to shove between them and Brody to make them listen, his face a twisted snarl, “I fucking _searched_ him, you fucking fucks! He’s going for his _cell phone_ , not a Goddamn _gun_!” Jason was back in his chair, unconcerned with the half dozen loaded guns pointed at him, staring down at the phone in his hand. His face was mingled horror and loss.

Vaas glanced down at the screen to see a photo of a very happy Liza next to her name and _Missed Calls: 3, New Voice Mail: 1_.

The other officers were slowly retreating, but Vaas was paying as much attention to them as Jason was. “I’m sorry, kid. We’re gonna have to hear that voice mail.”

Jason swallowed, took a ragged gulp of air, and pressed the button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you Vaas was good at interrogating. He's getting shit did. Aaaand. Now Jason can't hide this itsy bitsy little message. What might it contain? Tune in next ... whenever! Same bat channel, same bat [year] (probably)!
> 
> Oh, and I totally know recorders don't use actual tape anymore, but the RCPD's had some budget cuts. *shrug* Some amazing old cop prolly left it in their desk when they died one day before they were supposed to retire.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason plays Liza's voice message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, Louise, I swear I've not forgotten any of these stories. I still love them and this community. <3 I just can't quit you.

For a moment, there was nothing, and then a soft curse. Liza’s voice was shaky, fear and anger evident in it, an undercurrent of mocking sarcasm. “Are you fucking serious right now, Jason? Really, the _one_ time I call you first?” Her breathing was hitched, sounded like she was running as she talked. “Fucking asshole. You said to call if I needed you,” she growled. “Well, it’s too late for me, but you… I need to warn you. There’s time to stop everything.” Abruptly, she stopped running, breathing going much more ragged. “Fuck,” it was a tiny whisper. Barely audible. The sounds of scuffling, a struggle, the sound of the phone hitting the pavement. From far away, she shouted something, a few inaudible words. Then nothing. The automatic voice prompted Jason to replay, delete, or save.

He replayed it.

Again and again.

He and Vaas were leaned so closely together that their faces were very nearly brushing, trying desperately to make out Liza last words. After a few more repeats, Vaas placed a gentle hand on Jason’s arm, and shook his head. “Nothing else we can get from it, _hermano_ ,” he murmured.

The younger man looked up at him, something raw in his face that made Vaas ache inside. “Don’t you have some tech guy who can enhance the audio, or something?”

The cop almost snorted, but managed to just shake his head. “That’s TV shit, kid.”

Jason’s eyes slipped closed, and Vaas pretended he didn’t see the tear that edged out and streaked down his cheek. “Fucking hell.”

 

Vaas questioned Jason for hours, going around and around in circles, the both of them becoming more and more frustrated with the lack of progress. Either Jason was a really fucking good actor, or he really didn’t know that much about the Rakyat. Vaas was leaning heavily toward the latter, which he found disappointing. He could tell that Jason knew _something_ , something small he was keeping back, but clearly the young man was troubled by it, like it didn’t quite add up in his own mind.

They left him alone a few times, Carlos and Vaas watching him closely on the other side of the one way glass. The last time they met up to stare at the young man, his shoulders slumped and utter desolation writ into his every feature, the two officers finally admitted there was nothing left to learn.

“Unless he starts monologuing, I think we’re done here,” Carlos murmured in his quiet voice, nursing a steaming mug of coffee in his cupped hands.

Vaas snorted, but sobered immediately. “Yeah, but I can’t shake this feeling…”

“Yeah, I know. But I think he’s still trying to figure it out. If he doesn’t quite know whatever it is himself, how can you expect him to tell _you_ about it?”

They shared a brief, silent look in which Vaas acknowledged Carlos’s point, but also was stubbornly unhappy about it. Carlos lifted one eyebrow, but the other man just shook his head. “I know you’re right, don’t rub it in, asshole,” Vaas growled, almost-but-not-quite sulking as he moved to go back into the room.

Jason looked up at Vaas as he entered, his eyes bloodshot from the bad day and long night, something guarded in them, and something a little hopeful. Like the older man could fix this, like he might have already. The cop sighed and rubbed his face, abruptly completely drained.

“You can go, kid. There’s nothing else you can do here.”

The younger man’s face fell, and he looked as tired as Vaas felt. And so very lost. He made no move to get up, to go.

Hesitantly, “Do you need a ride home, Jason? I can take you, if you want me to. Or…” Jason looked relieved as he nodded, accepting the ride home.

 

As Vaas led Jason out, he let his boss know he was done for the night. It was well after midnight, and he _was_ done. He could barely gather his thoughts together well enough to speak anymore, much less actually attempt any investigating.

In the car, Jason was silent, cheek pressed to the glass of the window, his breath misting on it. Vaas took him to his own apartment, not to Grant’s extravagant house, and Jason didn’t bother asking how or why the cop knew where he lived.

When he opened the car door, he hesitated a little, and then offered, almost hopefully, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

Vaas stared at him, swallowed, and for reasons he was not going to examine at all any time soon, nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> DB = Dead Body


End file.
